


Oh Lover Man, Broken Mirror, Lonely Star

by sureaintmebabe



Category: Captain America (Movies), One Direction (Band)
Genre: (not larry smut), Alternate Universe, Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Feelings, Happy Ending, M/M, POV Louis, Pining, Smut, World War II, a lot of those, and Everything else, but also a lot of love, cause he is one of my favourite fictional characters and i love him, it develops from a scene in Captain America The First Avenger, louis is the sun, this is a larry fic so... what do you think?, this is written by a louis stan to all louis stans out there, yes it's a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 14:35:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5131214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sureaintmebabe/pseuds/sureaintmebabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is sitting at the corner of the bar dividing his attention between Harry and the man sitting dejectedly on a stool right in front of him.</p><p>Harry isn't a novelty. Neither is the girl with him. </p><p>The man at the bar, though. That's new. And Louis... Well, Louis is tired of heartache.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh Lover Man, Broken Mirror, Lonely Star

**Author's Note:**

> 1) The beginning of this story takes place in one of the scenes of Captain America - The First Avenger.  
> Very general preamble (spoilers for the movie):  
> Captain America has just rescued Bucky's regiment and Bucky himself from one of Hydra's facilities. It's the event that finally brings them together again after Steve was injected with the serum that would make him Captain America.  
> Bucky has been tortured and was in pretty bad shape when Steve found him.  
> They are in England getting ready to go back to the field.
> 
> 2) The title was inspired by [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iBanjMmV6zQ). It's a great song, you should listen to it!
> 
> 3) This story is the most unpretentious story ever. It's just for fun and a gift to all Louis Stans, specially **Becca, Jess and Mari** , who put up with my Louis ramble daily.
> 
> 4) I have to thank LovingCup for being my beta and basically my everything through this whole ordeal. 
> 
> 4) And, this fic was inspired by this [manip](https://41.media.tumblr.com/1074c11a598a33ad48f7344648076eaa/tumblr_nx7f7rqXMz1ukdx8ho1_500.jpg), because I love it.
> 
> 5) Also fun fact: I wrote this story before "Home" was released, so every single reference to _home_ is actually organic. Ha. ;)

**Oh Lover Man, Broken Mirror, Lonely Star**

~*~

 _"The night is cold and I'm so alone_  
_I'd give my soul just to call you my own_  
_Got a moon above me_  
_But no one to love me_  
_Lover man, oh, where can you be?"_

 

Louis has been watching the scene unfold for some time.

He's been sitting at a dark corner of the bar for at least half an hour, sipping the same pint, dividing his attention between Harry and the bloke who sits dejectedly by the bar.

Harry isn't a novelty.

Louis has been looking _at Harry_ and _out for Harry_ since Anne showed up at his house with a flat stomach and a bundle of baby in her arms. He himself was barely a toddler, then, but Louis is sure that from the first time he saw those green eyes it had been like coming home. Sometimes, when he's drunk and lonely, Louis thinks he spent the first two years of his life waiting for Harry to be born.

He cringes at the thought of it now. So he's a melancholic drunk sometimes. Well, sue him.

The guy at the bar, though. That's new.

Louis looks at the broad back and shoulders, hidden by the sad green of his uniform. He looks like he's got the weight of the world over him. And maybe he does.

Louis knows exactly who he is. The best friend of Captain America wouldn't be a minor character anywhere, even less at a meeting point for so many soldiers during times like these.

Stan has been working at this bar for a few months now and he hears things. More frequently than not, he annoys the shit out of Louis with the lamest drunk stories. Now and then there's a story worth listening to, specially the ones involving the soldiers who stopped by. And Louis knows he is staring right at the best one of them yet.

He isn't thinking about war, however. At least not at this second while he watches James Barnes nursing his whisky. He can't stop himself from smiling a little, looking down to hide it. He knows those signs too well. Has been living the same bloody whiny story for so long that it has become a part of him.

It makes sense. Of course Captain America's best friend is in love with him. Louis has seen the man around, can hardly blame him for that.

Louis' shoulders tense involuntarily when the Captain himself approaches Barnes at the bar. He feels the Sergeant's discomfort in his own bones. God, it's like reading a comic about his own life. He wants to put it away, honestly he does, but at the same time he can't.

The Captain has got a fine looking brunette with him. Louis has heard about her too. Apparently a match made in heaven and war, as crazy as that might sound. She looks like she could kill all of them and make shoes out of their skin if she saw fit. Louis likes her instantly. His eyes travel from her face, to where she's got her arm linked to the Captain's, and even without being able to see the Sergeant's face, he knows he must have a pained expression.

Louis knows the deal. He's been doing the same since Harry discovered his hormones, not even two years ago. And he knows he does pretty well around most people, just as he is sure the Sergeant does too. But Louis isn't most people.

Louis _knows_.

The Captain looks radiantly at his friend and rubs his back, at the same time smiling at the brunette with warm eyes. It's a beautiful picture to everyone else, Louis supposes. The other soldiers are singing loudly at the other corner of the bar, some of them shouting and laughing with the Captain and his friend. It makes Louis uncomfortable.

Something in the corner of his eyes draws Louis' attention, of course it does. Harry has his arms around Taylor and they are making their way to the dance floor, her red lips smiling seductively at him. His goofy laughter makes Louis' senses tingle. It has always been like this. It will always be.

Harry's cheeks are flushed and his hair is a complete mess. His forehead is all sweaty and his body is the only source of warmth that would work on Louis even from across a room. Even with war breathing down their necks. Harry can't dance for shit and always ends up being the laughing stock of the bar, but there he is, still trying. Louis couldn't love him more if he tried. He wouldn't have him any other way.

Well, as things are now... He doesn't have him at all.

He sighs, sipping the rest of his bitter pint. He won't think about that now. He's tired of his own drama; he's going to focus on the other drama happening right in front of him.

At least Harry isn't Captain bloody America. He’s too English for that, Louis supposes.

The Captain and the beautiful woman with him are leaving, and behind them there’s a happy trail of goodbyes and friendly laughter. It's as good as it could be, considering the dread that is always around military men and women these days.

It's a tricky thing, war. Even when there isn't a bomb going off right next to you, it engulfs everything. This war is settled in every inch of these men who drink and sing here tonight. Louis is sure they try not to do it, but they bring their pain with them everywhere. Maybe it’s fair.

Louis is getting ready to stand up, but first risks another look at Harry just because he can't not do it, was never able to stop himself, has never wanted to. As long as Louis is there, Harry will be at his line of sight.

Harry doesn't know yet. God. There are so many things Harry just doesn't know. Louis would keep it like that if it meant keeping him from harm. But he could never leave without a word.

You see; there were so many things he planned to tell Harry.

 _I was the one who broke your wooden truck when you were six_ ,

 _I was the one who broke Tim's nose for calling you dumb when you were twelve_ ,

 _I was the one who fell in love with you before I could even ride a bike_.

 _I am being shipped off in a week_.

 _I'm sorry_.

Fuck. There were so many things Louis was ready to tell Harry and the last one can't be put off any longer. Louis knows that. Tim’s nose will have to wait. The wooden truck and Harry’s little disappointed face when the toy was thrown away will haunt Louis forever.

The other thing will keep Louis warm during the cold nights he’s sure are to come. Or maybe it will make him freeze to death.

Louis has his eyes trained on Harry so he sees when it happens. It’s not the first time - it’s maybe not even the thousandth time, but it will never cease to be endearing.

Even from where he's still dancing with Taylor, Harry has this scared look on his face while he searches for Louis and can't find him. Louis has been sitting on the same chair for an hour, how can Harry be worried about where he is?

He's so silly; Louis loves him so much.

He waits for those green eyes to meet his, and stares for a moment because even after seventeen years, they are still the most beautiful things in the world. Or maybe Harry is. That's most likely. Harry who's smiling dumbly at Louis as if he just found the meaning of life. Louis knows, he _knows_.

They could be so good. So good. _They could have been_.

He smiles back, focusing on the dimple he used to poke when they were kids, then lets his eyes sweep the other boy's face.

Home.

If he dies in combat, then that home is where he wants to be kept in spirit. Just there.

He crosses his eyes pathetically and sticks his tongue out at the curly haired boy who laughs loudly and shakes his head at Louis. It wasn't even that funny the first time he did that when he was six and Harry was four and had a stomach bug and wouldn't stop bloody crying until Louis started making funny faces at him. It surely isn't funny at all now, but Harry still laughs. He laughs like he’s still four and Louis is the only reason for his laughter.

Harry wouldn't have him any other way. Maybe he doesn't know the meaning of that yet, and Louis had been waiting to give him a push. Maybe he's starting to figure it out. Talk about bad timing.

Louis smiles at him one last time and winks before standing up. Harry has his attention back on Taylor; Sergeant Barnes is still at the bar, shoulders lump and misty blue eyes.

And Louis, well, Louis isn't dead.

 

Approaching Sergeant Barnes shouldn't be easy, but Louis has always been a natural. He isn't shy and he can’t keep his mouth shut, never could, so he isn't afraid of being a little too much, just to break the ice, if it comes down to it.

“Stan, mate,” Louis shouts, sliding onto the bar stool right next to the sergeant's. Stan is filling a glass a couple of feet to the right, but he brings his attention to Louis quickly.

“Why am I still seeing your ugly mug?” His friend looks warily at Louis’ glass. “You drink like a girl, Louis” he snorts, just to be a shit.

Louis doesn't have the money to drink his weight in pints alright, these are awful times. He rolls his eyes at Stan. “Oi, wanker! You wish you had a face like mine.”

He hears the older man beside him snort and it surprises him. Oh. That’s just as well.

“Aren't I right?” Louis opens his arms, shrugging, looking at the handsome man.

And shit, Barnes really is handsome. He’s got light shadow on his jaw and his eyes look mostly grey under the dim light. He is amazingly beautiful and it almost adds to the melancholy about him.

War, Louis thinks, it kills something inside of people. Also pining, Louis points out to himself. That kills something too.

The man just shakes his head good naturedly at Louis and tries to sip his whisky, but realises his glass is empty. And that is just the cue Louis can use.

“See,” Louis comments, unrequired as it is. “God awful service in this place, I tell ya,” he looks at Stan. “The sergeant’s glass isn't going to fill itself, mate.”

Stan rolls his eyes, but with at a nod of the Sergeant, he pours the man another drink. The Sergeant is not the most open he could be, but he isn't giving off any signs of being uncomfortable by Louis’ presence, so Louis counts that as a win. Louis tries not to stare at the side of his face; he assumes that would be too inappropriate. Men can’t go around chatting up others at bars full of soldiers, Louis knows. This here, this is different.

Just as Stan is leaving them to attend to other customers, the sergeant speaks, much to Louis’ surprise.

“Well, don’t leave a friend dry,” he tells Stan, pointing at Louis. “Give him another one, come on!”

Louis turns his body to really look at him. “Thanks!”

The sergeant shrugs, looking sideways at Louis. “Everyone deserves to get drunk in times like these, kid,” he sighs. “Go ahead, it’s on me.”

Louis waits for Stan to give him his drink and leave them alone before answering. He sips it to give himself time. “Kid?” He asks finally, smiling his most dazzling smile.

The tone of his question piques the sergeant’s interest and he turns his head to look at Louis. His eyes slip to his lips before he can stop himself.  Louis is delighted. He can't believe Sergeant James Barnes isn't immune to his sharp canines and eye crinkle.

“Yes. Kid,” the man nods. “How old are you?” He challenges. Louis likes it. It’s good to be around someone without having his heart spilling out of his goddamn throat.

“Old enough,” Louis counters, his voice low. He’s pleased to notice the man in front of him has the ghost of a smile on his face. He will take it.

Louis rearranges himself on the bar stool, straightening his back and showing off the curve of his spine, like a cat. He can feel the sergeant’s eyes on his body and tries to shut down the thought that maybe Harry might be looking too. It doesn't matter.

He hides his smile with his glass and looks back at the man beside him, who is staring hungrily right back at him.

Yes. That. God, Louis wants that. Maybe they are the wrong eyes and jaw, but he wants.

“Enough for what?” the soldier asks.

“For a lot of things,” Louis says, sincerely.

“You’re still a kid,” the man banters, but his tone is warm.

“Your Majesty disagrees with you, Sir,” Louis answers, because in the end, that’s what Sergeant James Barnes will understand. And even though that damn letter put a damper on his lifelong plans, he never shied away from reality. “And with all due respect, I do too,” he sips his drink. He wants to sound just a bit rebellious. He fully believe he’s old enough to take responsibility, however, considering the Sergeant’s dazzling blue eyes or not. Louis is on a mission, so he better lay out his cards at once.

The older man considers Louis intently for a moment, making him fidget in his seat. Louis doesn't mean to be disrespectful, he doesn't, but it just slips out of him.

“What?” He huffs. He thinks about asking if he’s got something on his face, but that’s a war hero right there. Louis isn't that drunk yet.

He’s stared at for too long and at one moment he has no idea what is happening, but then he does. He notices the other man’s eyes softening and a sad smile turning his lips. Louis shakes his head and smiles down at his drink. God, what a picture they make.

He lifts his eyes again and faces the other man openly. The sergeant breaks into a most genuine smile and sighs. He shakes his head.

“I know that look on your face,” Barnes says, as he looks sideways at Louis. It’s kind of cute. Genuinely cute. He isn’t that much older than Louis, he looks softer now. It’s a good look on him. “I have seen it before.”

And Louis knew this was coming, but he doesn't have time to think about a proper reaction.

“You little guys are the most dangerous ones, aren't you,” he says, finally, and he doesn't close off, he turns his body all the way towards Louis. It takes too many seconds and they have passed the point of weird, but Louis stopped caring.

If it were any other situation, Louis would be sure this was flirting. But that intensity can’t be for him. He knows it isn't. He just didn't think-

He wasn't expecting that. He was expecting some sort of cryptic bullshit, like maybe the kind Harry is fond of doing sometimes, staring at the rain or some shit like that. But this... Louis tries to shake off the heaviness of it.

“I am not little,” he says dumbly. “I'm 5'9, thank you very much,” he clears his throat. It’s such a lame comeback. God. He’s completely off his game now. He’s regretting talking about the war at all.

“I have heard that too,” the man laughs, his implication clear. He keeps surprising Louis, but then again he supposes only people who saw real pain can go from deep meaningful random sentences to mocking in thirty seconds. A voice in the back of his mind tells Louis that he is in fact just a kid.

“I don’t think Captain America would appreciate you telling me that,” he points out jokingly.

“Nah,” the other man shakes his head. “Stevie was never embarrassed by who he is, kid,” he taps the bar and motions for another drink. “That pile of muscles didn't change his heart,” he glances at Louis. “He's always been a lion,” he says a bit distractedly sipping his fresh drink. Louis vaguely wonders how many drinks he’s in. “He wouldn't shy from anything ever, even small and weak.”

Louis just stares, trying his hardest not to let it show on his face how mesmerised he is by him. He feels such an overwhelming sense of companionship, such a silly thing to feel when the man across from him has seen the worst of the bloody war around them and Louis hasn't endured any real life threatening pain in his life.

But at that moment all he can think about is that he knows what the Sergeant means, and he understands so fucking much. And he is a kid, he really is, but god, isn't he old enough to understand this throat clogging feeling.

He sighs and shrugs. “I'm definitely old enough to know what you mean, mate,” he risks the informality. He doubts the other man is worried about decorum at this point. “I know what you’re saying. I know enough to hear what you aren't saying,” he looks at the man meaningfully.

Maybe if the sergeant were sober, he would just ignore what Louis has said, but tipsy and heartbroken as he is right at this second - and fuck, Louis can see it - he won’t let go. Louis feels bad, but not enough to stop. Maybe it will be good for them. Maybe it will be tragic.

Barnes looks at him as if he were experiencing the same conflict in his mind. He doesn't look ready to flee, though, as surprised as he might look. He’s a brave one, Louis thinks, and that is not news.

Fuck it, Louis thinks. He smiles deprecatingly. “I know _that_ look,” he says. He rubs his thumb and forefinger on the cool glass, focusing on that sensation and trying to to shake off the discomfort he’s feeling. This is more than he’s ever said to anyone. Most people in his life just know.

No one has never said anything. But Louis is sure everyone knows. It’s taboo; he could be arrested for it. But it’s there, it’s who he is. It’s Harry. Harry is a part of him, jail be damned.

“I really do know that look,” he repeats, more for his own sake.

The sergeant seems to be trying to figure Louis out.

“Hey, Lou,” a familiar drawl interrupts them. It makes Louis’ skin prickle.

For some reason, he feels like a deer caught in headlights. It makes no sense.

“Hey, Haz,” he clears his throat awkwardly. Bloody Harry Styles, making Louis behave like an idiot since he was born.

“Hey,” Harry says again. Louis wants to tell him he’s said that already, but Harry is looking at him apprehensively and made a simple greeting sound like a question. Louis is stuck.

He smiles at him because he’s Louis William Tomlinson; smiling at Harry Edward Styles is what he does. He looks at the crease between Harry’s brows and has the silly thought of smoothing it with his thumb. He wouldn’t, not in public. But the desire to touch Harry is with him all the damn time Louis is awake. Probably when he’s sleeping too considering the amount of times he’s awaken tangled in Harry’s arms when they agreed to share the bed just for warmth.

He thinks he should say something.

Harry is smiling at him, dimples on full display. Fuck. Louis is being mocked, he knows. “I said, we are leaving, Louis,” he repeats, expectantly. At Louis' blank stare, he frowns again. "Aren't you coming?" And his tone isn't exactly demanding, but it makes Louis feel guilty. Which he shouldn't feel, that's ridiculous.

“Oh,” he replies. Eloquent. Congratulations, Louis. He looks sideways at Barnes who just stares right back at him and he knows, has probably realised right at that second how much similarity there is between both of them. Ugh. This isn’t what Louis was looking for.

“Hey, H, you ready?” Taylor approaches them, fitting herself neatly beside Harry. Louis doesn’t even know if that could be considered beside. They are sharing the same space, touching everywhere. She rests her head on Harry’s shoulder just because she can.

Louis is almost sure she knows. He can’t stop staring at all the places they are touching. And he knows they are talking, Louis himself is talking, but he has no fucking clue what even are words at this moment.

He’s used to that, is the thing. It’s not the first time. Louis tags along more frequently than not when they go out, a lot of their friends do. But only moments ago Louis was feeling raw and ready to spill his guts. He was caught off guard.

It’s that what brings him back, at the end though. He’s so tired of this shit. For once in his life, just. Fuck this.

“I'm not going home,” he interjects. His voice is a bit too loud, but he’s always been loud, it’s nothing new. The couple startles.

And are they really? They never officialised anything; does Harry think he’s in love with her? Is he? Are they a couple?

“I mean,” Louis shrugs, “I'm not going home now. I'm staying,” he tries to smile. He can’t look at Harry because the thought of seeing some reaction on his face right now is too painful and the thought of not seeing any is unbearable.

He feels a bit suspended in time.

“Oh, yeah,” Barnes of all people says. “I have much to teach this young soldier here,” he pats Louis’ back.

Louis cringes. Fuck.

“What?” Harry asks. The frown on his face is almost comical at this point. Louis loves him, all of him, every little inch of his hysterically silly person.. And Louis will tell him, he will. But not now.

“Best friends with Captain bloody America, Haz!” Louis says. He knows how to be obnoxious when he wants. He’ll use that. He isn’t embarrassed at all. He points at the older man with his thumb. “It’s brilliant!”

Louis knows Harry can see right through it. Harry knows there is something wrong, maybe he even has an idea of what that would be, but he’s just looking dumbily at where Barnes still has his arm around Louis’ shoulders. He shrugs it off.

Taylor is still plastered on Harry’s side, but Louis shrugs Sergeant James Barnes off... Louis is a fucking idiot.

“Goodnight then, you two,” he goes on. “Get home safe,” he says, squeezing Harry’s shoulder. And he should let go, but he doesn’t. And then Harry’s face clears a little and he’s squeezing Louis’ neck right back, searching on his face for something familiar. See, that will never fail them. In one hundred life times they will meet, and in one hundred lifetimes Louis will always be his home.

They let go of each other and the couple walks out of the bar leaving Louis and Barnes in an awkward silence.

“Oh, I know that look,” Barnes says out of the blue, mocking his voice and accent. It’s dumb and Louis is thankful. “You’re making a mistake,” the sergeant sighs.

Louis recoils at that.

“You have to tell him about going away,” Barnes continues. “You’ll never forgive yourself-”

“Nah,” Louis says. He smiles sadly at Barnes. “I wouldn't do that. I will tell him. I could never just leave.” He is staring straight ahead at the dozen of bottles aligned at the bar. They are starting to look too shiny. Louis realises he’s lost count of how many pints he’s had. Maybe Stan slid him a new one. Louis isn't sure.

“Good,” the older man nods. He looks at Louis again, measuring him. “Old enough for war and heartbreak, Louie,” James marvels out loud. He says Louis’ name as if it were an European delicacy. Louis thinks it’s just as well.

He smiles. It’s still a bit sad, but it’s not bad. He looks at the man across from him again. Devastatingly beautiful and maybe broken just as much, but still brave and caring.

Louis wants to kiss him, he realises. It’s something very tender, a flower that bloomed in the middle of a pile of rubbish, maybe. He wonders when was the last time he was kissed. As for Louis himself, it’s been a while.

Louis sighs. “Well, that was a downer,” he says, finishing his drink. “I think no one is getting on their knees tonight then?” He asks, bluntly. He’s afraid he will offend the sergeant but then again Harry just left with Taylor and Louis is too pained to care about being smooth right now.

The other man just laughs out loud, looking at Louis as if he’s the best thing that could have happened to him tonight. Well, considering the real best thing is unobtainable, he is. They are both second best. It’s not that bad.

“Let’s see what we can do, shall we?” The sergeant says, letting his eyes hover over Louis body.

It’s a bit scorching and Louis shivers at the thought of what is about to happen. The thing about broken people is that sometimes when they crash and burn they warm all around them.

“I’ll wait for you at the back alley then,” he says sweetly, getting up and stretching himself again. He wonders if his petite form - he grunts at the word - makes the sergeant remember his friend before Captain America. He is pretty sure he is about to find out.

 

Louis lets the cold air caress his face, and breathes deeply. The street isn't as empty as it would have been during normal times, but still, no one is paying any attention to him while he slips to the side street, walking in a fast pace to the back alley.

His heart beats faster. The ghost of the sergeant’s stare still runs through every inch of his skin, making his blood boil. He likes it just a bit on that side of too much.

He’s never done this before, to he honest, not like this. Has never approached a stranger at a random bar. It would be too dangerous.

He’s no virgin, of course, though. Hannah, the butcher’s daughter, three years ago had been his only proper sexual encounter with a girl, but he has had his somewhat fair share of moments in front of strong masculine thighs, feeling the burn in the back of his throat.

Hands, mouths, tongues. Louis knows the deal with them. He’s quite satisfied with them, even if the voice on the back of his mind mocks him for fantasizing about Harry more times than not. It’s just something that happens, Louis supposes. He won’t beat himself up about that.

Harry is always on his mind, for the most random reasons. It is just natural that green eyes, flush lips, big hands and a narrow hip would assault Louis senses during those times. It’s one of those things he is too tired to fight. Louis is far from being a coward, but Harry is an old and constant flame. It had settled there too long ago. Louis learned to make room for it, to feed it, to keep it. The other option would be unthinkable.

Louis isn't like most guys he knows. He’s even sat apart from the ones he’s met in those clubs you can get arrested for entering. Louis is lucky. The only time a police officer barged in when he was there, the man ended up getting a blowie from one of the boys instead of taking anyone with him.

That policeman has a wife and a little girl, Louis knows them, as funny as that might sound. He envies these guys who can get rid of that itch for the male body and go home to a fine girl and a nice family, keeping all the pleasures in their life intact.

Louis would never be able to do that. In fact, Harry is usually the one Louis comes home to. They don’t live together, but that is just a formality. They even used to get into each other’s bedrooms through the windows, but that stopped when Harry started parading with Taylor. It’s a hollow feeling in Louis’ chest, but he just can’t risk walking in on them doing god knows what on that bed.

Louis shudders, and shakes his head to dissipate the cloud of thoughts. He won’t let himself think about that. What if Harry and Taylor will probably be lying there sweaty and happy in a few minutes? He’s about to get off with a war hero, thank you very much. A hot, beautiful soldier that will keep Louis’ mind off shit he doesn't have a say in.

Just as he is starting to get impatient, strong hands circle his waist and he feels Barnes’ fringe prickle down the back of his neck. His voice comes out low and not as wobbly as the amount of whisky he’s had would suggest.

“Are you sure you’re old enough?” He asks, rubbing his scruffy jaw all over Louis’ neck. Not that Louis is complaining.

“I'm twenty,” he lies. For some reason, it sounds better than nineteen. He’s old enough and he’s already too gone to stop now.

Barnes breathes Louis in and bites down his neck a little. And yes, Louis is up for that. Their bodies are touching in all the right places; the strong chest plastered on Louis’ back makes heat pool in the pit of his stomach. God, he loves it.

The other man lets out a breathy sound that could be either a question or a moan, but Louis doesn't care. “Come on,” he says, pushing his arse back more firmly. Not that they could get any closer. The sergeant is biting and sucking on his neck, sinking his teeth at the same pace he sinks his fingernails on Louis’ hips.

It’s infuriatingly good, and not enough and Louis just _wants_.

“Come _on_ ,” he says again, bringing his hand backwards and squeezing the other man’s bulge through his khakis. They are in a dark alley, but they could get caught. Louis should probably be more worried about that, but his brain is too fuzzy.

Barnes groans at the sensation of Louis’ hand and slides his fingers down Louis’ spine, rubbing one of his thumbs down the clothed crack of Louis’ arse. He spreads his hand over both cheeks and squeezes, just hard enough to make Louis’ legs weak.

“God,” the older man sighs, “I could get off just from this,” he rubs his hard on over Louis’ spread cheeks, holding him by the hips. “Come all over this pretty ass of yours,” he says, and Louis can hear the smile in his voice. It’s good; it makes every inch of his body hot. “I bet is a great ass.”

Louis smirks. He isn't shy about that at all. “Well, what you’re waiting for? A bloody written invitation?”

Barnes snorts and walks Louis to the darkest point of the alley. He doesn't let go of Louis’ hips, pressing the younger man against the wall, rough and wonderful, just as Louis expects him to. “You’re a cheeky thing, aren't you?” He asks, but he’s undoing Louis’ trousers, running his fingers feather lightly through Louis’ skin where the waistband of his briefs tantalises both of them.

“Am I?” Louis asks, distractedly, trying to help Barnes to get their pants out of the way. The night air on his bum makes him shiver, or maybe that’s the result of the first contact of skin on skin he’s experienced in a long time. He groans, resting his cheek on the wall, ignoring the sensation of the concrete against his face. Maybe it’s good, he marvels. He doesn't want soft now.

He is still trying to pull at the sergeant’s cock, but the angle is terrible. He doesn't want to turn, though, not now. He’s burning from every angle and it’s just too good to be over so soon.

As if reading his mind, Barnes bats his hands away. “Let me,” he says, taking a hold of his own cock with one hand, rubbing it between Louis’ arse cheeks. Louis hasn't got much room to touch himself, but he keeps pushing himself off the wall and onto Barnes’ chest, looking for more friction. His neglected prick hangs achingly between his legs, but the slide is amazing, and the teasing thrusts over his hole are getting him pretty quickly close to the edge. It’s raw and intense and exactly what he needs.

It’s messy, but still completely different from the guys in those clubs. He has never let anyone of them touch him like this, he doesn't like being with his back turned, doesn't trust people with it. And as much as he hadn't planned to trust the sergeant with this, Louis doesn't regret it. He feels sticky down to his balls with Barnes’ precome, should probably think about the mess they’ll have to clean, but he’s too lost in the sensation of being wanted to care.

That’s the thing, Louis supposes. He feels the other man’s fingertips hovering over his rim, just leaving the ghost of a touch and it’s making him fucking crazy, but it’s so good. He feels wanted. He is wanted at this moment, judging by how much the other man is panting and sweating against Louis’ neck. His moans are throaty and his touch is nothing far from reverential. Louis just loves feeling wanted.

“Fuck,” he lets out, when he feels the tip of Barnes’ prick grinding more insistently over his hole. And Louis doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing; he is past the point of knowing. It’s just so good, and hot. He knows it will hurt and maybe he will regret this - because it’s not really what he hoped for himself but fuck.

He spreads his legs as much as he can just so he can feel the friction better. He wants it so much. The sergeant is giving him everything he can, Louis will take it.

The older man only grunts and holds Louis’ hips still. He gives Louis enough room so he can grind his ass more insistently on his crotch, catching Louis’ earlobe between his teeth. He’s tugging at his own cock letting the meat of Louis’ bum engulf his prick and the sounds he makes are all Louis wants to hear.

Louis tilts his spine and the change in angle make the tip of Barnes’ prick catch on his rim. It’s unexpected and enough to make the older man freeze, letting out a cry too loud to be safe. Louis can feel the stickiness of his come between his arse cheeks.

The sergeant’s middle finger is back on him in no time, now sliding even more easily helped by his own load. He keeps rubbing Louis’ rim without _doing anything_ and Louis has pretty much had enough of that torture.

“Stop fucking teasing me, shit,” Louis argues. His voice cracks because the other man finally lets the tip of his finger in and Louis is past ready to come, he just needs-

“Shh, babe,” the other man says. He’s got a maddening smile on his lips, Louis can feel it. “It’s not _my_ dick you want, Louis, you know that,” he says, sliding his finger all the way into Louis. It burns a little, but rightly so. Louis is pushing back needily.

Louis knows that, he knows. He doesn't fucking care. “Well,” the sensation of the finger inside him the only thing on his mind. “Me eyes…,” he trails off, panting, distracted by the other man’s tongue on his neck. He is pushing back hard and fast, and trying to make room for his own hand so he can touch his swollen prick. He needs relief _right now_.

“Um?” Barnes asks, slithering his hand around Louis’ body to get a proper hold of his desperate cock. Fucking _finally_.

Louis has to skim through his brain for the words. He isn't quite sure of what he was going to say. The finger inside him is too skilled and he is too needy to proper think right now. “My eyes aren't the right shade of blue either, are they, and here I am,” Louis says, because somehow his brain stored this sentence the whole night. Louis is out of his mind; he doesn’t know what he’s saying. Shit. He just needs to come at once.

Abruptly, the sergeant manhandles Louis until they are face to face. Louis’ body misses his fingers so much, he could cry with it.

“God, please,” he whines unashamedly. He kind of hates how desperate he sounds, but what is dignity when he’s open and ready and feels unfairly empty?

“They might not be the right shade of blue,” Barnes says, too calm for someone who’s squeezing Louis’ cock deliciously. He’s staring right at Louis’ eyes. And fuck, he’s so beautiful. “It doesn't mean I don’t want to see them.”

Louis closes his eyes in retaliation because it is too much right now, this intensity. He doesn't want to think about any of this. “Please,” he repeats. It’s the only thing he knows.

“Tell me what you want, Louis,” the sergeant whispers to him, his lips hovering over Louis’ without touching. And maybe it’s pretty symbolic of something, but shit, Louis is too gone to give a damn. “Tell me”.

Oh. Yeah. He is required to speak. Um. “Fingers,” he says in a hurry. “Shit,” he pants at the friction over his cock and the ghost of fingers over his rim. “Just keep what you were doing, I'm so close.”

“It’s okay, shh,” the older man soothes him. It’s not really what Louis wants, he doesn't particularly like being coddled, but he thinks it’s just as well.

The fingers are back on him, now two of them, pressing more firmly over his still wet hole and Louis thinks he’s in heaven. He pushes into Barnes’ fist and fingers alternatingly and it’s so hot. The sergeant’s teeth graze not so lightly over his neck, just adding to the thrill of it.

Barnes pushes his fingers all the way in, massaging into Louis. The older man’s body offers all the support Louis needs, so he just lets go. A twist over his prick has him coming with a surprised shout, luckily muffled by the broad shoulder keeping him in place.

Louis looks down at his tired prick and notices the sergeant’s hand awkwardly holding his load. And he doesn't really know what makes him do it, but he brings the hand to his mouth and sucks, looking directly at Barnes’ eyes.

It’s being wanted, is the thing. That desire, the breathy “ _fuck_ ” that leaves the sergeant’s mouth while he traces Louis’ lips with his fingers. Louis chases away the voice in his head that makes sure he notices that the eyes in front of him aren’t even green.

“You’re a menace,” the older man says, and he sounds so amazed, it makes Louis preens. He is staring right at Louis, his expression is open.

Louis smiles at him, sincerely. He’s a good man, they both are.

The decision to kiss doesn't take too long. At one moment they are just looking at each other, at another, Louis feels Barnes’ lips on his, warm and kind. It’s not a heated kiss. It’s tender and heavy with everything that lingers between them, it doesn’t matter how hard they try to ignore.

It’s like they are the sun and the moon, Louis supposes. But in different universes. In this universe, Louis has already got a moon to complement him. And he knows James Barnes has a hell of a sun too. It’s a bit sad, but it is what it is.

When they break apart is just as tender as the kiss itself.

Louis feels weightless. His body could float away in the night breeze at any second now and Louis wouldn't even care. His window is open; he might just fly home.

[He closes his eyes and smooths his hand over his head, trying to sort out his fringe](https://36.media.tumblr.com/b3be962e0c3fec9b69470f082c163d25/tumblr_nx7gbjKeJy1ukdx8ho1_500.jpg). His gel is now long gone, chased away by the sergeant’s hands, the wall and Louis’ sweat. When he opens his eyes, Barnes has a smirk on his face.

“You know exactly how fucking beautiful you are, don’t you?”

Oh. Well.

Louis does know, actually. But he wasn't thinking about it right now. He smiles anyway.

Barnes pulls a handkerchief and start to clean him up and it’s weird, Louis isn't sure he likes it, but he’s too spent to care. He’s barely able to stand on his own when the other man lets go of him to tug his clothes back into place, but manages on wobbly legs. He fastens his own trousers and sighs contently. His body is a bit achy, but he's not the one to complain about it. Barnes offers him a cigarette and he takes it right away, inhaling the smoke deeply as soon as it's lit.

The older man is now standing right next to him, leaning heavily on the wall. It's a pregnant silence, but not exactly unwelcome. Louis is too tired to make small talk and somehow he knows that whatever it is they are about to say, it won't be meaningless.

"So, Louie," Barnes quips. Louis is tired of people mocking his French name, but the sergeant makes it endearing even. The man looks sideways at Louis and his eyes are serious. "War, eh? Are you afraid?"

Louis drags his feet, the sound of the gravel grounding him. He feels the rough wall on the tip of his fingers where he rests his hands alongside his body. There's hardly any sound left on the street apart from their breathing.

Louis wants to be a good person and think about the war, but the truth is that the first thing that comes to his mind is Harry. It might be the second and the third one too. Louis has a large family, younger siblings he should be concerned about, it seems fucked up that he’s this attuned to the curly haired boy all the time.

He keeps smoking in lieu of replying because he honestly doesn't know what to say to that.

"I guess I am," he says finally. Louis knows being brave doesn't mean not being afraid. He's scared shitless of a lot of things. "I can't sit here on me bum while people risk their lives doing what's right, though," he shrugs.

The sergeant looks down at his feet and smiles, knowingly. Louis doesn't know if that smile is about his bum or his little speech. Either is fine, he thinks.

"Even if it means...," Louis trails off, making a vague gesture with the hand that’s holding the fag. God, leaving means a lot. Mostly it means leaving a lot of unfinished things behind. And he knows he shouldn't, but is now really the time?

"War changes everything," the other man says in a forlorn tone. "This particular light you have, you gotta save what keeps it bright,” he pushes the smoke out of his lungs. He smokes like he’s letting go of emotional aches. He probably is. “It's the best thing you have."

"Thanks," Louis replies, quietly, since he doesn't know what else to say. Not for the first time that night he feels exactly like the nineteen-year-old kid he is. Here he is, sharing the night air with this soldier who seems to carry the whole war with him. It makes Louis shiver. "Well, at least I’ll have you and your friend fighting on my side. That's not a bad team," he smiles.

Barnes smiles warmly at him. "No, it's really not," he agrees. "I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him."

Louis nods. He believes that wholeheartedly.

“I’m still glad Harry is too young,” he sighs. And deep down it’s unfair that he only thinks of that when hundreds of kids are dying on the field every day. But he can’t help it. He can’t think of anything worse than having to see Harry being shipped off to god knows where to carry a gun and be painted with blood. Louis knows he’s far from helpless, but still. There will never come a time when Louis’ first instinct won’t be wanting to keep Harry safe. “He just… He’s always been cut out for something better.”

He prays for the war to end soon, before Harry gets dragged into it.

The other man smirks at Louis, shaking his head. “You’re a good one, Louie.”

“I do my best,” he grins. He doesn't say “for Harry”. He doesn't think it’s necessary.

 

They start walking side by side, back to the main street where Louis thinks they will part ways. They don’t, however. Barnes just shrugs and follows him, talking about his life as a poor kid growing up in Brooklyn. It’s not that different from Louis and Harry’s lives, as he ends up realising. Neither of them is rich, far from it, in fact.

There’s a lull in the conversation when they are approaching Louis’ house and he knows it’s coming even before the words leave the sergeant’s mouth.

“You gotta tell him.” He has his hands in his pockets and doesn't sound harsh, but he has the stance of someone who knows what he’s saying.

“I will-”

“Not only about war, kid. Everything,” he recites, his lips curving in a deprecating smile.

Louis sighs.

“The way he looks at you,” Barnes goes on, and now he does sound a bit accusatory. “We know that look. _You_ know that look.”

They are walking the last steps to Louis’ place and he smiles because god. It’s really silly and he should be better than this, but it’s just good to have someone else say it.

“I know,” he nods. Barnes raises his eyebrows in surprise. Louis just keeps smiling.

He knows Harry better than anyone else. Of course Louis of all people knows. If only it were as simple as that, if only it were before the war had started and Louis didn't have a timeline hanging over his head.

But he knows. He recognises the beaming eyes, the touches. He grew up with Harry; he’s seen the boy become conscious of his own body. He’s heard Harry’s breath get caught in his throat waking up by his side; he’s seen Harry jealous and everything else. Louis knows.

Louis has always been helpless around Harry, but he doesn't think the younger boy has ever been immune either. It’s just the way things were with them: always orbiting around each other, glowing in each other’s light, dancing to each other’s voices. It’s what they are, LouisandHarry, HarryandLouis. Crime or not, social decorum or not. It is what it is.

Or it would be. It would have been, Louis is sure of it. It’s a piercing certainty, something that makes his heart pound sometimes, but that it might be killing him little by little. He looks up at the sky, then, not even sure why. It’s as good a distraction as any. He doesn't let himself mourn over this too much. He doesn't want to mope, it wouldn't do anyone any good.

“What the fuck are you doing, Louis?” The Sergeant huffs. “What are you doing to that boy?”

“It’s just…,” Louis fidgets with his fringe. “It’s not fair now. I'm leaving in a few days, god knows what is about to happen. It would be too painful to him.”

The other man snorts. “To _him_? Is that what you’re telling yourself?”

Louis scowls. He doesn't appreciate someone doubting his reasons.

Barnes has the guts to roll his eyes at him, of course he does. “Stupid _bravery_ ,” he shakes his head. “It’s already painful for him, idiot,” he gives Louis’ shoulder a light punch.

“Ow,” he grimaces, exaggeratedly. He hardly felt anything. “Did we get off just so you could scold me?” He jokes. But it burns.

It burns. Louis pretends it’s the punch but Barnes’ words keep exploding inside his head. It shouldn't be news. It’s not. He doesn't know why listening from someone else makes any difference.

The older man is looking at Louis as if he were the dumbest kid in the neighbourhood. Louis hates it. He likes to think he knows what he is doing most of the time. Especially when it concerns Harry. He doesn't like to think he might be failing the younger boy, that he could be failing _them_.

It’s a goddamn drama and he hates it. It was easier when he was still not mourning anything.

He hears a deep sigh coming from the man beside him. They are standing in front of Louis’ door and Louis could just excuse himself and go in, but he knows Sergeant James Barnes deserves better than that.

Louis clears his throat and leans on the wall. It’s not really what he thinks, he probably should be more worried about it, even, but he also can’t ignore it. He won’t have any other chance to let these words out, not like this. “What if he doesn't-”

“Then you won’t have any regrets,” the other man answers, his voice steely. “Then, you will hold that goddamn riffle and march over other broken hearts like yours, and it won’t matter,” he continues. His voice is intense in a way Louis hasn't heard before now. He might not be Captain America, or not even captain at all, but fuck if he doesn't know how to make himself be heard.

Louis doubts that it will be as easy as that. He doubts there will ever come a time when Harry won’t matter. But then again Louis has never seen war, so he doesn't say it.

He nods weakly, staring at the ground, seeing the ghost of nine-year-old Harry splattered right here after one of his ridiculous falls.

He is everywhere.

“Just don’t give up the chance of having something real before going away,” Barnes says. Louis just listens to it, can barely move at all. “I saw what happened today. Just because you’re afraid of looking, doesn't mean it isn't there.”

Louis looks up again. He does that, sometimes, stops looking afraid of what he will find out on Harry’s face. And it’s stupid cause on way or another, he always knows.

God.

He smiles, shaking his head at himself. “It was easier when I didn't have anyone meddling, thank you,” he jokes.

The other man snorts, but he knows Louis is hanging on every word that comes out of his mouth.

“You’re a good kid, Louis,” he says, squeezing Louis’ neck; his hand is strong and comforting.

He lets his grey eyes sweep Louis’ face and for a moment Louis thinks he’s about to be kissed again and he isn't at all opposed to that, before he remembers where they are.

Barnes just smirks at him. He caresses Louis’ pulse point with a thumb. “Fucking beautiful,” he adds, letting go of Louis.

Louis’ mouth goes dry at the rawness of the compliment. He likes it, is the thing. Whatever it is that this man has gone through, he can still admire Louis and be painfully open like he was just moments ago. It’s good for his ego, he thinks. And it’s really, really good for his heart.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Sir,” Louis replies, smiling. It’s a bit sad, they are both a bit sad, he marvels.

They linger for a brief moment before finally saying their final goodbyes and turning their backs. Louis doesn't watch him go, doesn't want to. It’s just one more good thing in the world this war might kill. Louis doesn't want to think about that.

 

 

He opens and closes the front door as silently as he can. His mum has been sleeping in the living room, after deciding to give up her room for the twins.

It's a crowded space, to say the least. Being the oldest and the only boy among all the kids, he ended up getting lucky and having his own room, but the whole house is cramped. On bad days Louis feels close to asphyxiation - could self combust from how choked he feels. He doesn't complain, though, knows he has no right to. It would hardly be fair considering how much effort his mum put in their home. It's a joined effort. Everyone helps with what they can, resulting on a strong bond between them all. He supposes this is what random bombing will do to a family of seven having to hold on to each other to survive the madness that has settled after the war started.

Louis walks carefully to the bathroom, having memorised every corner of this house as the back of his own hand. He’s been living here since he was born, always thought he would die here too.

Being at home again brings the reality back to him really quick. One second there was James Barnes with his blue grey eyes and at another, there's darkness and an old heartache. It brings a particular heaviness to his bones and it’s bittersweet. He’s knackered and his body is protesting but there’s still a phantom buzz in the back of his mind, a vibration keeping him awake enough to think and it’s _good_.

It’s also a bit disastrous.

He sighs looking at himself in the mirror. There are marks on his neck, scattered lovebites painted randomly on his skin, and Louis cherishes them a bit. This and the mess on his skin are his only indication of what happened. He tries to be poetic about it and think that what happened will always stay with him, but he knows life comes and life goes and he’s only got one slot for forever in his fucked up brain. It’s got green eyes and pretty curls, a goofy smile and all the love in the world.

And it’s maybe waiting for him, even. Shit. How can he put all these floating thoughts back in a dusty drawer in a dusty corner of his brain?

Louis hisses at the contact of the cold wet cloth over his lower half. Maybe the dull burn on his bum is as good as a souvenir as Louis could expect. He snorts, shaking his head at himself. God. That was great.

Louis sits on the beat up stool his mum uses to bathe his sisters and continues to clean himself as well as he can while sleep catches up to him.  He feels exhausted and worn out, and he knows it's not only physical.

He tells himself he'll get his shit together the next morning. He’s a mess of thoughts and feelings at the moment, but Louis never agonises for too long. He keeps his head up and set things straight, it’s who he is. Whatever it is that happens next, he won’t be suspended for long, can’t deal with uncertainty.

Two hours with Barnes and Louis has been turned upside down. Or maybe his resolution was never set on stone. He sighs, dragging the cloth over his inner thighs. Was Louis ever going to give up on Harry like this? Was Louis this much of a coward? He doesn't fucking know, _doesn't know_ anything anymore, apart from body ache and cold and motherfucking war looming over his head like a Christmas mistletoe gifting Louis with the kiss of death.

 _Shit_. Harry’s bad poetry must be rubbing off on him. As if he could be any more pathetic.

He isn't, he really isn't. From the first years of his life he was always a brave one. Louis has got a lion heart, never ran away from confrontation, he won’t shy away from confronting his own heart, of all things.

 _Ugh_. That’s tomorrow, though, not now. Now he only wants his goddamn brain to shut up and a good night sleep.

He stands up again. Looking at his own eyes in the mirror, he clenches his jaw stubbornly, willing his head to be quiet already. He shivers a little after washing under his armpits, the droplets of water running down his body and making a puddle at his feet. He dries it using his own dirty clothes, figures he might as well. It’s better than being awakened by his mum for leaving a mess for her to sort out.

Louis washes his face and gargles with water and soap to clean his teeth. He’s hungry, but too lazy to walk to the kitchen and hunt for something to eat. He’s almost sure the cherished piece of cake Harry had brought from the bakery is now long gone, so what would even be the point really? Louis is glad that at least the children still have the chance to eat something sweet now and again, thanks to Harry.

Louis drapes the towel around his waist and grabs the bundle of his dirty clothes to take with him to his bedroom. It won’t do having his mother wash dry come from his trousers. He’s still got some dignity, thank you very much. He’ll find a way of washing them when the house is empty, even if that is almost impossible these days.

He drags his feet to his room, making barely any sound, and opens the door being extra careful. This is an old house and all the hinges whine as much as the toddlers.

 

It’s a bit telling, Louis thinks, that he enters his bedroom and doesn't scream when he notices he isn't alone. He barely blinks, really, trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness and squinting at the outline of the body on the bed. Not that it could be anyone else. Louis doesn't know any other person who would know that his window was unlocked and exactly how much pressure put into it to open it.

Harry’s sleeping on the right side of Louis’ rugged mattress - god knows for what reason. He hasn't done this in a while, and yet Louis’ senses can still feel him without any strangeness. Louis rubs his face and leans on his dresser still staring at Harry’s lump form. He’s never done that before, has never fallen asleep before Louis could come home, has always been a bit of a little owl.

It makes something weird tug in Louis’ chest to realise that Harry has been here while Louis has been… not here. He has the stupid urge to shake the boy awake to ask what is wrong, but he seems to be sleeping peacefully judging by the heavy puffs of breath distinguishing the cadence of his sleep.

Louis turns around to go through his dresser and find a pair of pyjama bottoms to put on, holding the towel with one hand and searching with the other. The only light available is coming from the street and it barely serves for anything at all, but he would have to be drunk not to notice that someone went through his drawers.

He squeezes his eyes shut, swallowing down the bitterness that threatens to claw up his throat. Fuck.

Louis palms through the first drawer, deluding himself that he could have kept it in a different place and forgotten about it, but he hasn't, not really. He knows exactly where he placed that bloody envelope, it’s been the bane of his damn existence since the moment he traced the paper with his fingertips.

“Lou?” Harry croaks out.

He isn't awake, Louis knows as much. This is neither his slow drawl, nor his almost awake mumble. He’s asleep. For some reason he’s calling Louis’ name as if he were dreaming of him and at any other day, Louis would celebrate it, but now it just breaks his heart. It doesn't sound like a happy dream at all.

He dresses himself quickly in the first thing his hand can touch inside the drawer and paces to the bed, walking around it and standing at the other side. From where he is, he can see Harry a bit better, the dim light coming from the street painting the other boys’ face in faint shades of blue and grey.

It doesn't make his breath get caught in his throat or anything like that. His breathing is already pretty erratic as it is, to be honest. Besides that, Louis isn't speechless by Harry’s beauty; it doesn't work like that for them. Louis isn't going to be surprised with how beautiful Harry is right now, because he’s learned to admire it every day for the past seventeen years. It’s as simple as that, really.

Harry is the most beautiful thing Louis has ever set eyes on. And Louis is conscious of this every waking moment. It just doesn't go away.

There is Harry: ever beautiful, loving and silly Harry, lying on his bed clutching the bloody envelope in his stupid enormous hands. Louis’ eyes stay glued to it for a moment, his body fighting its own urge to drag the paper form Harry’s hold. When Louis looks at the younger boy again, Harry’s now blinking up back at Louis. His eyes are green like the set of teacups and saucers Louis’ grandmother used to have.

And why is he thinking about bloody tea sets, Louis has no idea.

“Lou…,” Harry whispers. He is still not fully awake, but he is not sleeping as he was just minutes ago and Louis feels like shit.

He arranges himself on his side of the bed - and yes, he does have a _side_ -, but stays hardly any second contained to it. He wriggles until there’s almost no space between them.

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry repeats. And it’s annoying, but it’s also wonderful and Louis never wants to stop hearing his name coming out of Harry’s mouth, but it is also not the time.

“Shh,” he answers, because that’s the only thing he can think of. “I'm here,” he goes on, dumb as he ever was. Apparently he’s dumb around Harry, life always teaching him things, he supposes.

Harry is trying to come up with something to say, but he’s too slow.

“Tomorrow, yeah?” Louis pleads. He rarely does it and he knows Harry will understand for what it is. The younger boy doesn't look too happy about it, but Louis is circling his waist and bringing him closer with his left arm. He wouldn't be able to hold himself from touching, not now. Harry doesn't shrug him off, doesn't even frown, just scutters even closer to Louis and it’s _different_ and just... right.

They are sharing each other’s breaths; Louis could kiss his mouth with barely any movement at all, but he doesn't. He’s imagined himself kissing Harry more times than his brain could keep track of, but it was never a sleepy kiss during a sad night. HarryandLouis are bright and strong; Louis isn't going to steal any first kisses.

He brushes his lips on Harry’s forehead, though, he wants to. He kisses the other boy’s eyes too. They are wet and Louis doesn't know if they are tears of sleep or sadness, except he does. And God, it hurts.

“In the morning, okay?” He whispers to the other boy. He keeps his lips pressed to Harry’s cheek for a moment because he’s addicted to his skin, can’t seem to stop touching. He breathes him in and Louis has the hysterical thought that only Harry could make his lungs work again after a period of Harry-induced asphyxiation.

They are a tangle of limbs, couldn't be closer, it’s not really possible, but Harry clutches a handful of Louis’ shirt, pulling him towards his body with all the strength his sleepy body can muster. Louis squeezes him in return, it’s the most comfortable he’s ever felt in his life, even with the lingering sadness.

“It’s going to be okay,” he soothes. And they are empty words, Louis can’t promise anything, but Harry gives a little nod and that is the only thing that matters right then.

 

 

The first time Louis opens his eyes, there’s a grey sheen painting the room. He can hear almost no noise apart from faint puffs of breath. They have rearranged themselves during the night and Harry is lying on his side, facing Louis, still deep in sleep.

The younger boy has his mouth slightly open, his chest rising and falling peacefully. Louis looks at him while trying to sort everything that happened the night before, but his eyelids are too heavy. Before slipping back into sleep, he thinks that Harry might be holding one of his hands, but he isn't sure.

The second time Louis wakes up, he’s met by a pair of eyes pinning him in place. Harry has put some space between them, but not too much. Louis can still count the little blue spots swimming in the puddle of green that are Harry’s irises. Or maybe he’s got them memorised, it’s possible.

They look at each other for a long moment. It’s so long that Louis catches himself cataloguing Harry all over again, as he’s sure he’s done a million times already. There’s the usual mop of wild hair and the three little chickenpox scars sprinkled around his nose. But there’s also a red edge around his eyes, a frown between his brows and something raw playing in the corner of his lips.

Not being able to read Harry is such an unprecedented event in Louis’ life that he finds himself paralysed. His brain is lit, all right, but his body simply doesn't work. It’s terrifying in all the wrong ways.

Harry seems to be looking for something to say, or possibly knows what to say already, but doesn't know how. Louis dreads whatever it is that is about to come out of his mouth and maybe that’s the thing that propels him.

“I love you,” Louis says. Just like this, with no preamble, no story. His voice is rough; his tongue seems to be glued to the roof of his mouth. “So, so much,” he breathes.

Harry’s stare hardens for a moment before the boy closes his eyes seeming overwhelmed. Louis can relate. He looks a bit softer when he regards Louis again, but his lips are still set in a thin line and Louis tries to make sense of him, but he can’t.

Then there’s the sound of paper being crushed and Harry pushing the envelope into Louis’ chest, grabbing a fistful of his shirt. It’s a desperate gesture and he seems choked when he finally speaks. His voice is coarse.

“You have no right of saying that _now_.”

It’s a rueful scene, but after a moment, Louis can feel the other boy’s fingers touch his chest, right over his heart. It’s like coming up for air after holding his breath underwater for too long.

“I have every right,” Louis answers, fixing Harry with a stare to match, even if he’s sure he must look frantic. He’s been waiting for years, he’ll be damned if anyone will tell him he’s got no right of doing whatever. Even if it’s Harry, even if in a dark corner of his brain, Louis himself might still be questioning this.

He moves his hand slowly to circle the other boy’s wrist. Harry’s pulse is jumping like mad, their hearts drumming an escalating rhythm together.

“I have every fucking right, Harry, and I'm _sorry_ …,” he trails off, only because there’s a lonely tear dancing on the tip of Harry’s eyelashes and it punches the air out of Louis. He wants to catch it, but he’s holding Harry’s arm like a lifeline. “I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner, I'm not sorry I'm finally saying it now.”

Louis is surprised by how freeing those words are. He’s spent so much time grovelling and postponing, then worrying and regretting that he pushed to the back of his mind what he would feel in this situation.

It’s still unfair to them, but when has life ever been perfectly fair to anyone? Life's a bitch, Louis is an idiot, and the sky is blue.

Harry looks as suspended in time as Louis felt just minutes ago. Now, though, it’s like a dam broke somewhere inside the older boy. He’ll have time to feel embarrassed for it later, if it comes down to it.

“I loved you when you were six and I was eight and we knew fuck all of the world,” he says. “I loved you when you were twelve and I was fourteen and I realised there was something wrong with me because I should like Hannah like that, not silly, baby Harry,” he continues. Something dark clouds Harry’s eyes, and Louis’ rubs his arm soothingly.

He will apologise in every way he can.

“I loved you when you were fifteen and I was seventeen and I thought- I thought I was alone,” Louis forces out. It’s hard and it makes his voice break, but he keeps going. “And it was so lonely, Haz.”

Louis doesn't know what makes Harry snap, if it’s the old nickname or the fact that Louis has never sounded as vulnerable as this.

In a second Harry’s planking himself onto Louis, burying his face on Louis’ neck, his voice wavering with a dry sob. “Stop,” he wheezes out. He wiggles his hands under Louis’ shoulders and clutches to Louis’ upper half like his life depends on it.

“I'm so sorry,” Louis repeats.

He doesn't think his brain even registers that his arms are encircling Harry until he’s already squeezing the other boy right back. The envelope is crunched between them, burning a hole where it touches their chests.

Louis’ holds Harry for a long time, thinks they've been holding each other for years, in fact. This happening at the moment seems more like a natural development than a breaking point in their lives. The truth is that if Louis feels that Harry is what is holding his pieces together, it’s certainly not the first time.

“I should have said it sooner, I know,” he whispers in Harry’s ear while rubbing his back, trying to soothe the ache his stupidity has caused. He was fucking stupid, doesn't accept his own age or anything else as an excuse for it. “God,” he sighs, sinking his hands on the mussed curls. “I'm so-”

He’s cut off by Harry’s lips crashing into his.

Louis is pretty sure that in the hundred times he’s fantasised about kissing Harry, it was never like this. It was never with Harry on top of him, trying to shut him up while crying, his lips salty and swollen.

And yet, in Louis’ mind it was never as sweet as this.

Harry’s lips are insistent over his, pressing hard and unapologetically. Louis loves it. He’s not breathing, can’t even fill his lungs, afraid the movement will dislodge Harry or result in a pause in _this_. He never wants to stop doing _this_.

When Harry pulls away from Louis’ lips, there’s barely any room for him to move, and he is panting out of breath. “Will you stop now?” He huffs, sounding exactly like he always does when Louis is being too much of a little shit and Harry scolds him like an old lady.

It’s so familiar and wonderful and _Harry_. His eyes are shining because of the tears and he looks as beautiful as ever. Louis’ fingers tingle to touch, even though he’s already touching him.

He traces under Harry’s right eye with a finger, a light brush he wishes could just erase the tear stains there.  He wishes they weren't his fault.

“Stop.Doing.That!” Harry says, pressing their foreheads together.

“I don’t know what I am still doing, but will you kiss me to stop me?” Louis asks, in a heartbeat. He thinks Harry should resume the kissing by any means.

The younger boy is trying to fight a smile, but Louis can see it, right there, still shy, dancing around his lips. He brings his finger to the corner of Harry’s mouth, can’t stop staring at it, trying to will the smile to bloom at once.

It works almost as efficiently as poking Harry’s dimple.

The smile is so open and full of light, even with puffy eyes and wet cheeks. “I will probably kiss you anyway,” Harry whispers.

“Oh,” Louis mock pouts, even though his heart feels like is going to burst. He’s sure Harry can feel it. “Only probably?”

Harry rolls his eyes at him. Louis is amazed.

“How probable, though, like really probable, or just a little?” Louis insists. He’s never had any qualms at being an annoying little brat to get Harry’s attention.

Harry hides his face on his chest. “You’re unbelievable,” he tries to muffle a giggle.

“Is it probable like in the next minute probable, or maybe in the next ten minutes?”

And now the younger boy’s shoulders are shaking with barely contained laughter and Louis feels like crying with joy. He’s got his boy on top of him and he is smiling. They are going to be okay.

“You better kiss me soon cause whatever it is I am doing, you don’t want me to keep doing it, I have to be stopped,” Louis nods, his tone really mock serious.

“You’re the worst,” Harry shakes his head at him. He holds himself up on his elbows, each one at one’s side of Louis’ head. His eyes keep drifting from Louis’ eyes to his lips.

“Uh-Uh,” Louis shakes his head. “I happen to suspect you think I'm the best,” he raises his eyebrows. The beam it gets from the other boy makes Louis’ breath get caught in his throat.

Harry rubs their noses together sweetly. “The very best,” he breathes.

He squints at Harry dramatically, trying to pretend his hands aren't sweating nor his limbs shaking. He’s Louis so he can’t shut up, just clears his throat and keeps going. “I might even start thinking you like me.”

Harry’s smile settles into something less enthusiastic but much, much stronger, and it shakes Louis’ to the bones. It’s so simple, so natural, so them. Louis is so gone. _Jesus_.

“I really, really do,” Harry says.

He keeps grinning down at Louis, knows exactly what it is doing to him and Louis can’t stop himself, can’t keep doing this. He holds the younger boy’s face adoringly and lifts himself a bit to meet Harry’s lips with his own.

Their second kiss is much different from the first one. There are no excuses, no other reason for it except that Louis wants it too much. And so does Harry, judging by how quickly he settles in Louis’ arms, melting into him.

Louis brings his right hand to the back of Harry’s neck, feeling the overheated skin on his fingertips. It anchors him, makes it all wonderfully real. He wants to touch everything at once, wants to touch Harry with every inch of his naked skin, scent him, hold him, mark him. Louis wants it all.

Their mouths fit like puzzle pieces. Harry has always been home, but Louis thinks this right here is like opening the windows and letting the moonshine in. It redefines everything, makes every single kiss Louis has ever been given seem like old photographs forgotten in a dusty corner of his mind.

Every brush of Harry’s tongue lights Louis’ from the inside, each taste of Harry he gets settles solid and permanent into Louis’ memory. He feels like this is what he’s made of, stardust and plush lips, green eyes and volcanoes. Harry and his kisses.

His brain is out of control, failing so spectacularly that Louis doesn't even realise he’s mumbling incoherent words into Harry’s mouth until the other boy breaks the kiss. Harry pecks him on the lips once, twice. He kisses Louis’ wet eyelashes and bites his chin before holding himself up again.

“Lou,” Harry says, looking intently down at Louis. He’s got his hands on Louis’ fringe, his fingertips brushing lightly at Louis’ temples. “Stop apologising.”

Louis didn't even know what were the words that were falling out of his mouth, but he thinks it’s fitting. “But-”

“No, _Louis_ ,” Harry insists. His usual tone isn't demanding, but whenever he’s wanted to capture Louis’ attention, it’s always been like this. Harry holds him down with one word. “Listen to me,” he directs. He looks different now, larger than life. Louis wouldn't be able to look elsewhere if he tried. “Are you listening?” Harry asks again. Louis only nods.

“Not everything is your fault,” Harry says. His tone is gentle now, but still charged. “I should have done something,” he confesses and it seems to be paining him; Louis hates it. “It’s not all on you.”

Louis shakes his head because this makes no sense. They only have a few days before Louis fucks off to war and they have wasted so many years-

“Don’t get me wrong,” Harry continues. He brings that goddamn crushed envelope to Louis’ line of sight. “This shit you pulled, this was stupid,” he pauses. Harry has never called Louis stupid with intent; Louis doesn't like this either. “ _Lou_ ,” Harry forces out. His eyes are suddenly so fucking sad again; Louis wants to protect him from everything. New apologies are threatening to climb off his tongue, but he keeps himself in check.

“Lou,” Harry repeats. “Please tell me you weren't going to just leave,” he begs.

“I wasn't,” Louis jumps to reassure him. “Harry, I could never, I wouldn't, baby, I swear,” he says. “I was afraid, I don’t know, I was stupid, but Harry,” he kisses the other boy’s lips softly. “ _Harry_ ,” he kisses him again for good measure. “I wouldn't.”

“Okay,” Harry breathes. “Okay,” he says again. He looks ready to fly away; Louis doesn't know what to do. Harry buries himself in Louis’ neck for a moment, just breathing. When he lifts himself again and stares down at Louis, he seems much more settled in his own skin again.

Louis can’t believe it, can’t believe Harry thought he would leave without saying anything. Louis knows he had been avoiding it as much as possible, left it for last because he couldn't face to cause Harry so much pain, but he would never-

“I know you,” Harry says after a moment. “And I love you for it,” he throws in. Louis can barely hear the rest with the sound of his own blood rushing loud in his ears. “But you have to stop trying to shield me from this stuff,” Harry continues. “Lou?”

“You love me,” Louis accuses him. He sounds deranged even to himself.

Harry rolls his eyes at him, shaking his head exasperatedly. Louis would be insulted, but Harry Styles loves him, so he is a bit busy at the moment.

“You love me,” Louis repeats. He knew that, of course. He really did know that, but just. Harry.

Holy fu-

“I do.” Harry presses his nose over Louis’ cheek.

Louis has to close his eyes right then. He turns his head to the side, trying uselessly to hide his face in the pillow. It just feels like _too much_. He's freefalling and he can’t stop.

He breathes deeply, willing himself to calm down.

“Don’t shut me out,” Harry says, his mouth hovering Louis’ ear. He sounds small and it’s absurd, because Harry is engulfing Louis with his presence, Louis can feel him all around. It’s marvellous, even if Louis’ heart is still in danger of bursting.

Harry kisses the wetness off his cheeks. “You have to let me take care of you too.”

It’s something so simple, and yet it means everything.

“Just,” Harry signs. “I know I'm  _your baby_ , or whatever,” he smiles a little. “But I'm not helpless.”

Louis smiles at him, even through the tears. “I know.”

“Do you?” Harry asks, surprised.

Even if Louis’ instinctive approach to things is to protect Harry from them, he does know.

Right now, lying under Harry while the other boy kisses the tears stains that are drying on his cheeks, Louis can admit that maybe it was his own fear of dealing with Harry when he’s hurting, his own overprotective strain that kept him from telling the truth. Harry has never in his life run from anything, he has proven again and again that he doesn't need to be shielded from anything.

“I should have told you sooner,” Louis says, quietly. It’s different now, he isn't apologising to Harry exactly, he thinks he’s apologising to himself.

Harry sighs and climb off him, lying by his side, facing him. He nods. “You should have told me about this sooner,” he throws the envelope on the floor, getting closer to Louis again. “But it doesn't matter, I know now and I'm not going anywhere,” he says, decidedly.

He sounds older, and so fierce. Louis is so thankful for having Harry on his side. He’s grateful for being allowed to grow up with him.

Harry drags his hand up Louis’ arm, caressing him. The movement makes Louis’ ratty shirt stretch and reveal most of his neck and collarbones. He is watching when Harry’s eyes glow suddenly darker and his lips set in an imperative line.

“I felt like hauling you from that bar last night,” he says, pressing Louis’ skin with an unsteady thumb. Louis remembers the lovebites there. Harry presses a spot a bit harder. “I was so angry,” he swallows audibly.

Louis can’t help himself. His mind is bombarding him with dozen memories of Harry with different girls. _You have no right_ , Louis wants to spit at him, but he doesn't.

Louis manhandles Harry in one fluid move, straddling him on the bed, grabbing his hands and holding them over the other boy’s head. Louis can sense some of Harry’s anger turning into something sweeter and much more needy.

“What about Taylor then?” He asks. And he knows it hurts Harry, wouldn't have said anything if Harry hadn't started, to be honest. He entwines their fingers in an amendment of sorts. “How many times would I have yanked you out of her side?”

Harry holds Louis’ hands tightly. “Maybe you should have,” he says simply. There’s a delicate air of defiance about him, not overbearing, just something subdued that makes Louis’ skin feel heated and his chest constricted. He cocks an eyebrow down at Harry.

 _Interesting_.

He sits himself on Harry’s hip and that’s when he notices Harry’s more than half hard in his pants. Louis tries to contain a groan, but can’t. It mingles in the air with one spilling out of Harry.

 _Really interesting_.

“Well, I'm yours,” Louis says sincerely. They can play this game some other time, but right now, Harry needs know that; Louis needs Harry to know that. Harry’s eyes are still burning his skin where Louis’ shirt has covered the marked spot again, but Louis knows what it is.

“Come on, then,” he says, firmly. He brings himself down onto one elbow and stretches the shirt, showing off his collarbones to Harry, who stares up at him. “Just do it,” Louis says right over his ear. “I know you want to,” he continues, biting down on Harry’s neck and grinding down on him.

“Shit,” Harry whimpers. He grabs Louis’ by the shoulders and attaches his mouth to the junction where Louis’ neck meets his shoulder. It’s tentative at first, as if Harry doesn't know what he’s doing, but he is quick to learn. He mouths Louis’ neck hungrily, his lips hot and demanding.

As Harry relaxes, he slips one hand to Louis’ ass and squeezes hard, making Louis grind down onto his hips involuntarily.

A knock on Louis’ door snaps them out of it. “Louis,” his mum calls. “Time to wake up!” She shouts and then quickly walks away.

Louis groans, frustrated. “Ugh, no,” he complains.

Harry giggles, but doesn't take his hands out of Louis’ arse. Louis sits up and looks out of the window for a moment, the daylight had crept on them.

His mum will need help with the twins and Harry has to be at the bakery soon. Even though it pains Louis, they have to get up.

“Do you intend to go to work while still holding my bum?” Louis swats at Harry’s hand playfully.

“Yes,” Harry nods, solemnly. “Mine,” he says while squeezing it again.

Louis rolls his eyes at him, but it’s mostly fond. “Yes, yours,” he nibbles Harry’s lower lips. “It will still be here when you come back, come on.”

Harry lets go of his bum, but encircles his neck and hugs Louis with so much tenderness that Louis has no other option but to hug Harry back. He allows himself a moment to just lie there and breathe Harry’s scent.

“We’re gonna make it,” Harry murmurs.

It takes a moment or two for Louis to get what he’s talking about. When he does, he presses their foreheads together. “We will,” he nods.

Harry’s eyes are full of love; Louis can feel it. It makes him strong.

“I’m gonna wait,” Harry goes on. “And if it takes too long, I’m going there and I will bring you back myself,” he jokes. Except it’s not really a joke. They both know it’s unlikely that the war will end before Harry is eighteen.

But Louis doesn’t want to think about that now. And even if it does happen, there’s nothing in the world that could dissuade him. He looks into Harry’s eyes and he knows in his gut. They’re gonna make it.

“I will walk over Hitler himself if it means coming back to you,” Louis whispers. And maybe it’s silly bravery, maybe it’s a dumb thing to say, but they both need it now. And Louis feels it running in his blood. They will make it. “We’ll be together again,” he kisses Harry slowly.

“Promise,” Louis reassures Harry, beaming down at him.

He can’t believe he’s got his boy with him.

 

 

It’s something they won’t know during the next few days.

They won’t know when they say goodbye and Louis turns around to step onto the train.

They still won’t know when it’s Harry’s turn to leave his home and fight a battle that is bigger than anything they had ever seen...

It will take a while for them to figure it out, but they will know eventually, that Louis always keeps his promises. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> That's it.  
>  
> 
> ***pretend there is a defensive ramble about why I didn't feel comfortable writing larry smut because there is already so much of it. and about how i will kick your arse if you come at me for writing smut with a different pairing. it's a fictional character, let me live***


End file.
